Clowns

Clowns panhandle the air, turn overapplause like a boiling flannel,inspect audiences as if a panelof assassins assessed them. A clover,lime-green, plastic, splits their titfer;their mouths are like watermelons.Sometimes they're shifty, like felonsuncertain what they might be fit for.

Clowns do not blink, have talcum facesand cherry tomato noses,which glow as if trugs of fresh roseswere scenting them. Yanking their braces,they are speechless, like grandfather snappersmiming their way through aquaria.Monk-tonsured, but ears much hairier,they go like the broken clappers.

Clowns live in caravans, always smokingcheroots with their miniature spouseswho sew patches upon their best trousers.They prefer to be inside, and soakingchildren with sawdust. They do not weepexcept in stories. Loose-limbed, acrobatic,their sex lives are wholly ecstatic.Clowns die in a doldrum of sleep.